Viewpoints
by Assimbya
Summary: [This Is Where We Came In] Snippets of the world the way the various characters see it, whether it be the world in their past, present, or future. Contains references to original characters in this universe.
1. Fred

Fred

For a while, things were wonderful. They were all delighted with their freedom and they did all the things that they had never been able to do while under the control of the Storytellers. They confessed to one another all the secrets they had held close to themselves for so long, afraid that these feelings might be tainted by the Storytellers' use of them in their stories if ever they were to find out about them. And in the midst of all this untrammeled emotion and expression, they all began to follow their own whims and fancies, without the slightest hindrance, something which was quite unfamiliar to them all.

For a time, all that was wonderful. But then, it began to seem boring. After all, they all _liked _stories. And the sign, saying "Stories told here at 7:00" still stood, as if the whole world was waiting for them to begin telling stories again. And so they unanimously decided to do so.

But, to tell stories, they needed a Storyteller. And when Fred raised that question, there was silence for a long moment as they all considered who among them could possibly tell stories for them.

"Well, I think that the answer should be quite obvious," Jenkin said finally, breaking the silence.

"Yeah," Albert nodded, agreeing with Jenkin for once, "there's really only one person who could do this."

They were all staring at him, and Fred knew who they must be talking about. "No, no, I couldn't," he stuttered, "I'm sure someone else could do it better than I could. Bethany, you'd be good at it! Or Wally, you were always creative. Or Talitha…" But they all shook their heads. Finally he turned, desperately, to Nell, "Nell, wouldn't you…"

She only smiled at him. "Flavius, you know that this is your place, and I wouldn't take that away from you. Remember, your story freed us from the Storytellers."

After all that, Fred couldn't do anything but tell a story as they wanted him to. And so he, though he was terrified that he would do something wrong, walked to the three chairs that had remained empty for all the time of the Storytellers' absence. And he sat down in the chair where Great Aunt Repetitus had once (it could have been long ago; time had no meaning in their world) sat.

He didn't hear a voice, no longer booming, but now quiet and scared, coming from Kevin's Keyboard, whispering, "Beware."

The power corrupted him, as he should have known it would. His intentions were always good, of course, and at first he tried to make sure that his stories made all the Players happy. He would give Talitha a part as the romantic lead, or make Samuel and Ashley best friends. And all his stories would have the most lovely happy endings. But it was all too easy to fall into the habit of the awful things that the Storytellers had done. When Jenkin was rude and haughty, or Camelia was irritatingly inquisitive it was all too easy to make sure that something bad happened to them. Not awful, mind you, he didn't send anyone to be tortured, but the lines of what was moral and what was immoral were all too blurred.

Nell hated it. Though the others still saw him as one of them and laughed when he humiliated Jenkin, she saw clearly what was happening to him. "Stop telling stories, Fred, please…" she begged him in between the stories, holding him protectively as if to protect him from the cruelty in his own nature, "You're becoming like them, Fred, don't you see?"

"I'm not," he told her, "Don't you trust me?" But such words never reassured her, and she continued to ask him to stop, not realizing how much danger she was putting herself into.

It all fell apart during a rendition of "The Seven Swans," when Nell stopped in the middle of her line and asked him to tell the story slightly differently.

If it hadn't been for Nell's constant arguments earlier, Fred would probably have remembered her smile when she had kissed him that first time and would have done nothing. But he was still too irritated at her, and the idea of punishing her for even _suggesting _that he was anything like those horrid Storytellers was quite attractive.

And so he didn't give her even so much as a look, though he heard her frantically trying to get his attention, and looked out at the audience that might, in another world, have existed, and said, "Tragically, the Queen did _not _finish sewing the shirts for her brothers, and the King burned her at the stake for witchcraft."

For a moment they all looked at him in amazement, and then they found themselves compelled to drag Nell to the stake that was never supposed to be used in the proper ending of the story, and set her on fire.

And, as Nell screamed, the other Story Players looked at Fred, in his shirt which was the same color as Repetitus' shawl had always been, in the very place where she had always stood, and they understood what they had gotten themselves into. But, by then, it was much too late to do anything about it.

If Repetitus had been still existent in their world, she would have laughed at the irony.


	2. Albert

Albert

Albert was Albert. He knew his place, and understood it, and didn't ask for anything. He had to be there always, dependable, optimistic, helpful. He had his failings, but they weren't anything that people weren't used to, and when Great-Aunt Repetitus once accused him of incompetence, he was quite insulted, because he _wasn't _incompetent. He made mistakes, true, but who didn't? And he did what he needed to, what he was supposed to. He did his best, always.

Once, the fact that he was constantly cast in the same roles had annoyed him with the pure _monotony _of it, but that had been back in the early days of the Storytellers, when Albert was unused to the way they went about things. Albert had been a different person then. He had actually had strong opinions, and had voiced them. He understood how pointless all that was later. And he settled into his roles, and if he didn't grow to love them, he became comfortable in them. In fact, he became a very good woodcutter, eventually. There were even a few moments when he wanted nothing but to be able to be a woodcutter for the rest of his life, without worries about plum-tree cutters or farmers or any other complicated things like that. Life could be simpler then.

But being a woodcutter was not an option. He was a Story Player, and he would be one forever after. That was simply the way the world worked. And he wasn't foolish enough to try to struggle against that. All he could do was stay Albert, stay dependable, stay optimistic, stay helpful. That was something he was capable of.


	3. Jenkin

Jenkin

He knew that he was completely indispensable. After all, they would all, Story Players and Storytellers alike, be lost without him. Without him, who would play his roles? Samuel? Laughable possibility. No, he was the only one who could do it, and so they all needed him. Silly indeed of them to mock him when they thought he was unable to comprehend their jokes. No, they really ought to be begging him on their hands and knees to stay and agree to play their Kings.

But just because he was indispensable didn't mean that he didn't have to worry about anything. Oh, no, quite the contrary. He had to work every moment to maintain his reputation, to make sure that all of them understood quite how indispensable he actually was. They already didn't have the proper respect for him – what could happen if he started speaking like the rest of _them, _or let them forget for an instant how superior he was?

They mocked him even for that, it was true. But that was only because they were scared to admit just how superior he really was, even when they all, deep down, knew the truth about it. And, in the end, they often ended up with parts they hated, while Jenkin…well, when there was a King in a story, who ended up playing him most of the time?

Let them be jealous all they wanted. Jenkin was triumphant.


	4. Talitha

Talitha

She saw beauty in everything. That was why she was content with it all, probably. Because, though she was entranced often by the beauty of pretty jewelry and gold crowns and the beautiful dresses that the princesses in the stories always wore, it was the same beauty that she saw in the pretty stones she picked up by the river when she had a chance to, or in the gleam of sunlight on a hayloft late in the afternoon.

And that was why it was so easy for her to not be bitter when Nell was, over and over, chosen as the Princess in the stories, or to say kind things to each of the Players every day. And, though her face ached when she had to frown too much in one of her roles, and though she so often had to play the same roles, saying the same sorts of lines over and over without an opportunity to find new types of beauty in each story, she was happy. She smiled when she could in the stories, and her sarcasm was gentle, and everyone loved her.

Even the Storytellers, she thought, loved her, or they must, because she did what they asked her to always, and without fail. Honestly, she didn't understand why she wouldn't have. True, she would much rather have lived without their dominion, discovering her own new types of beauty every day, but if she couldn't, then she might just make the best of things. And, as for the Storytellers, she didn't see any reason why she wouldn't want to make them love her just as much as everyone else. And people tend to love other people when they make them happy. And people make other people happy by doing what it is they want to do. And so, with that logic, Talitha always obeyed the Storytellers without question, and didn't complain about their mistakes (except a bit, sadly, when they weren't listening and it would make the Story Players happy if she complained), or make herself too conspicuous. She was one of those people who becomes invisible by always doing their job perfectly, and, because she did it so well, she was sure that they must love her.

If Talitha had ever learned that she was completely dispensable to them, she would have been heartbroken. For, if they had to send her Ever After, they would have cast Ashley or Camelia or Anna in her roles without another thought, and, though they might have been irritated at their inadequacies, they would never have realized that lost Talitha had lacked all those faults. And that would have made Talitha very sad indeed.

And so, it was lucky that the Storytellers were destroyed long before she had an opportunity to learn anything like that. The rest of her existence was spent, even more content than she had been before, among people who saw her, and who loved her, if not as completely as she loved them, then enough.


	5. Bethany

Bethany

She didn't know what it was the Storytellers had seen in her. In all her innocent conversations was there once a proud toss of the head, an icy glare? Had they seen evil in the gestures of her hands that she had never before that thought capable of murder or torture?

Bethany always remembered very clearly when it had first happened. It had been during Snow White, one of the Storytellers' first stories, back in the days when they had told their stories all together, each making up for the others' faults (this was before they had grown so proud that they wanted the stories to be just their own). The cast was nearly assembled. Nell, of course, as the title character, Talitha as the early dying mother, Jenkin as the silent father, Flavius (for this was before the disaster) as the prince, Albert and Samuel and Wally as all seven of the dwarves. That left only the Wicked Queen to cast. And Polly, Camelia, Ashley, Alison, Anna and Bethany to play her.

The Storytellers took a long time deciding, and the already chosen players were frozen for what seemed at the time to be an eternity as the Storytellers walked back and forth, looking closely at each of the yet unused Players. Repetitus and Erraticus came simultaneously to the realization of Bethany's potential in the role, and, for a few seconds, Oblivious didn't notice that they had stopped pacing and continued to do so.

Bethany hadn't noticed that then. At the time, all she had been aware of were Erraticus and Repetitus' eyes, burning into her.

Then they glanced at one another with utterly different expressions of delight, seeming to be speaking their own language almost entirely through their eyes. "It's perfect," Erraticus said in what was nearly a whisper. "It is," Repetitus agreed, and, from their tones, Bethany was already apprehensive, though she, at the time, had no idea what they intended.

"Get up, girl," Erraticus commanded her suddenly. Repetitus nodded. "Yes, child. We want to look at you."

Bethany did as she was told, dimly aware of the fact that Oblivious had finally noticed that something was happening and had rushed over to join Repetitus and Erraticus.

All the Story Players were silent as Erraticus made a twirling gesture with his umbrella, and Bethany felt compelled to turned around slowly.

Then, all the Storytellers nodded, Repetitus made a gesture of picking Bethany for the story, and she went to stand beside the other chosen Players, beginning to feel evil running through her veins like poison through the contours of an apple.

That was the first time. Since then, she had done so many terrible things (she kept track of them all, feeling strangely compelled to, as though, if she didn't, she would become guilty for everything the Storytellers forced her to do). She had strangled, eaten, stabbed, seduced, transformed, imprisoned, and – of course – poisoned all those she cared about countless times. And, though eventually some of those sorts of roles were given to Alison and Anna, in order (Erraticus said) to make sure that Bethany saved her strength for the most important roles, the bulk of the responsibility of evil fell on Bethany's shoulders.

Over time, she became resigned to it. Sometimes, she even managed to enjoy it, because it was not often that people were able to indulge those sorts of desires that are too awful for most people to even contemplate without any responsibility for it. But no one could ever become complete adjusted to things like that.

It would have been better to be either completely adjusted to it, or not adjusted enough. Because, the way things were then, when Bethany kissed Fred and then Nell's foreheads, she was adjusted enough to it not to fight, and not adjusted enough to not feel guilty.


	6. Nell

Nell

The fairy-tales had gotten to her mind. She knew them all perhaps better than anyone else except the Storytellers, all the different ways in which she could suffer and end up being ultimately saved.

That was why she was their leader, really, when one got to the heart of the matter – though her charming smile, her friendly manner, her engaging way of starting conversations couldn't have hurt either – because she understood the world they lived in better than the rest of them, and lived almost instinctively by its rules.

And so, when Repetitus began to tell her story, Nell saw the patterns of it forming clearly. She saw the age old rule that everything happens in threes, and knew that it would be the third time that could destroy her beloved Flavius, the third attempt, the third visit. _Warn him before the third time, _a voice in her head said, and she knew that she must, if there was to be any hope. _Break the pattern, _she wanted to scream at him, _she's creating the pattern all around you and she'll trap you within it, just as if you were a fly within her spider's web. She's clever, haven't I warned you about her, Fred? Do something to destroy her pattern, _please?

She didn't have a chance, though, until the third time – Molly's third visit to the farm – and she knew even then that it was all lost. She didn't acknowledge that, though, and she whispered to him, desperately, wishing that he would hear that each repetition of his name was really a whispered _I love you._

But he didn't hear, already caught in Repetitus' web, and she was forced to leave his presence, knowing that Repetitus understood what she was doing, and would make her suffer for it – though how could Repetitus making her suffer anymore than she probably intend to do by taking her Flavius away from her?

Repetitus did, though, with her infernal imagination, making her a servant to the witch, a servant twice over, for they were all the servants of the Storytellers, as Repetitus was no doubt reminding her. And then, trapped in her in character subservience, Nell had to watch as Bethany (Bethany who she had even thought of as a friend, clever, smiling Bethany) stepped forward, about to destroy Nell's love and only hope, and Nell could do nothing…

And then Repetitus stopped, and Nell was dimly aware of something changing of Erraticus taking Repetitus position, and then everything was resumed for one brief moment until Erraticus failed the test and everything erupted into chaos. And, as she desperately grabbed Fred's hand, Nell thought to herself, _First attempt._

They didn't get out, of course, and Oblivious took Erraticus' place, and Bethany came again, and all Nell's instincts were screaming, _Second attempt!_ But she again could do nothing but stand there, just before everything erupted into chaos a second time and Nell again grabbed Flavius' hand and again they ran, this time more wildly, because this was their last chance, Nell knew that. For she couldn't let this reach a third attempt, or all would be lost, that was clear. And so she ran, and ran until the wind pulled them back and thoughts began to whirl within Nell's head as fast as the leaves around them whirled in the horrid wind. _Break the pattern, keep moving, don't get dragged back into the spider's web, don't let go of Flavius, don't let go of Flavius…_

But she did, and they fell, and soon Nell felt Bethany's lips on her forehead, and her last thought was, _Third attempt._


	7. The Storytellers

The Storytellers

When they returned back to the place where they lived (it was a place created purely out of their own imaginations, and so fitted all their needs perfectly), the Storytellers did all the things they did on any other day. They put on water for tea, and settled down in their armchairs (Oblivious' of dark green, Erraticus' of dark purple and Repetitus' of dark red). Oblivious took out his favorite rubber duck, curled up in his armchair, and went to sleep. Erraticus began fixing his hair which was, he told the rest of them (though they paid little attention to him, as he said the same thing every time), rather messed up. Repetitus took the pins out of her hair and let it flow loose over her shoulders, and then took off her unnecessary glasses.

But, this time, Repetitus got up even before the tea was done, and chosen several books from the immense bookshelves on the wall behind them, brining them over to her armchair and opening the first to a page about two thirds of the way through it. "The beginning should be vaguely like the beginning of the firebird version of the Story of the Princess of the Glass Hill," she said absentmindedly, half for her benefit and half for that of the other two Storytellers, "no one ever expects those sorts of stories to turn out terrifying. Now, for an antagonist…"

Her voice trailed off, and Erraticus quickly continued for her. "Bethany."

Repetitus frowned. "Actually, I was thinking perhaps Nell…for the irony of it."

Oblivious stirred a bit out his sleep. "What is this about a well?"

"Not well, Oblivious, _Nell," _Repetitus told him tiredly, and he nodded and went peacefully back to sleep.

Erraticus immediately picked up the thread of conversation where he had left off. "But it absolutely must be Bethany. She's the only one who can pull of those sorts of things. Nell would do it terribly." Repetitus said nothing, but smiled a bit. Erraticus continued, "You agree, I can tell. Now, it simply _must _be Bethany. I even let Alison and Anna play the villains in Gretel and Hansel so Bethany could save her strength for _your _story. You must take advantage of it."

On this matter, at least, Repetitus wasn't difficult to persuade. "Very well, then. Oh, the tea's ready."


	8. Kevin on Keyboards

Kevin on Keyboards

Kevin knew everything.

He was the only one who had been around back when the Storytellers came into power, and, in fact, he had been the closest friend of Repetitus back when no one had ever called her by that name. He had seen the three of them gather close together and speak in lowered tones during the stories, glancing furtively around them. And he had known, even then, what they had been planning.

Forever after that, he had regretted the fact that he had done nothing to stop them. It was his greatest shame, and it made him certain that he deserved everything that had happened afterwards. But how was he to know that they would become not merely storytellers, but the Storytellers, forever ruling as tyrannical dictators?

When she had first seen that Kevin knew about their plan, Repetitus came to speak to him, offering that, when they became storytellers, Kevin would have an important job; he would be able to create all the sounds necessary for the stories they would tell. She knew that he hated actually acting in the stories, and that he did enjoy those sorts of jobs. And he agreed to remain silent and simply watch, not knowing that, because of that decision, to be silent and watch would be his fate for all eternity.

Because, soon after coming to power, the Storytellers decided that it was too dangerous to leave him with that knowledge, free to give it to anyone he pleased.

And so they took away his voice and gave him his keyboard.

The keyboard only allowed him to say the things that it had been programmed to say, which made it nearly impossible for him to conduct a reasonable sounding conversation. At first, all the Story Players were confused and worried by this sudden change and questioned the Storytellers about it, but this didn't last long, as it was during the time when the Storytellers were beginning to slowly exterminate the earliest Story Players and replace them with new, ignorant, obedient ones. And these new Story Players had never known Kevin as anything but 'Kevin on Keyboards.'

And, slowly, over time, Kevin became, to some extent, content with his life. He began to care about all the new Story Players, and he got used to the Keyboard, and he was rarely the target of the Storytellers' wrath.

But then everything with Flavius began. Kevin saw, even when the others could not, Repetitus' devious plan, both because he knew her well enough to predict such a thing and because he was no longer a Story Player, and so was exempt from the amnesia which plagued each of them over and over again.

Yes, he saw it all, and knew the one way Fred could break the cycle, but when he searched desperately on his beloved keyboard for a key which he could use to tell this to all of them, there was nothing but "Beware." And so he said it, over and over.

But no one ever seemed to understand.


End file.
